Walk a Mile in my Shoes
by FusseKat
Summary: An angsty Alex fic. She no longer trusts herself to have Bobby's back. A letter gives her away out, will she take the chance? A/N: The first chapter is not what it seems... have no worries. A short two chapter one shot.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: Dick Wolf, NBCUni and probably several other have rightful claim to most of these characters - not I. Detective Blake Jamison is however, an original character of mine.

A/N - All I'll say is that - It is not what it seems. Have no fear. A two chapter one shot.

* * *

Walk a Mile in my Shoes

_Walk a mile in my shoes  
just walk a mile in my shoes  
Before you abuse, criticize and accuse  
Then walk a mile in my shoes_

"OK, let's check out this ... Charles Waxman and then we'll call it a night." Detective Robert Goren closed his notebook and glanced over at his partner, Detective Alex Eames.

"Sounds good to me," Eames agreed, then cut a sly glance across the front seat of the black SUV. "Got a hot date tonight, huh?"

"Just keep your eyes on the road, _De_tective." Bobby pointed through the windshield to emphasize his point, but there was amusement in his voice.

"Who is it? Detective Blake Jamison?" Alex grinned wickedly.

"'Who is it? Detective Blake Jamison?" Bobby mimicked, rolling his eyes. "Who else would it be?"

"Ah-ha! I knew you'd have to have a date, or you wouldn't want --"

"I never said I didn't," Bobby pointed out, voice rising in pitch. He was in a playful mood, though trying hard not to show it. It had been another long tedious day, in a long tedious week. Interviews had been frustratingly unproductive, witnesses uncooperative, and the captain was breathing fire down their necks. Both were in need of more than a little diversion.

Alex chuckled. She was enjoying being able to turn the tables on her partner - for years she'd had to suffer through Bobby's cross-examinations of her love life, not that there had been all that much to cross examine the last few years, but still it had been more than enough for her. Now that Bobby was seriously involved, or at least appeared to be, it gave Alex enormous pleasure to be the one dishing out the 'hard time' for a change. She did this only because she was incredibly fond of both Bobby, and Blake Jamison, a fellow detective in Major Case.

"Where are you taking her?"

Bobby threw visual daggers her way. "Will you leave it alone?"

"Aw, come on - how many times have I had to sit through your games of twenty questions?"

Bobby stared through the windshield and said nothing.

"So…. Tell me, detective…"

There was a very audible sigh. "Pastis."

"Oh ho, fancy! Tell me," she sneaked a peak at her reluctant partner, "you two thinking of … I mean you're not going to …"

Bobby turned an annoyed glare in Alex's direction. "If we were, you'd be the last to know."

"I was the last to know when you two started seeing each other – and I considered you both my friends and yet neither of you…" Alex sighed dramatically, "why should this time be any different?" Alex shot back, feigning injured pride.

"Look, let's just get this over with, and then you can drop me off and go do whatever it is that you want to do tonight." Bobby shot back at her.

Alex looked over, trying to suppress her laughter. Her partner was staring out the side window but obviously grinning.

Unwilling to relinquish the upper hand, Alex ventured, "If you want, I could pick you up at Blake's tomorrow morning..."

Bobby's head snapped around, eyes wide and threatening. "Look...! " he roared, but stopped when he saw his partner engulfed in silent laughter. He started to chuckle, shaking his head, then reached out to playfully wrap his big hands around her neck.

"Just paying you back," Alex chided, "for all those inquisitions you've put me through for years."

The laughter faded into a comfortable silence.

The SUV turned a corner and slowed. Still smiling, Alex leaned over the steering wheel, staring up at the houses they were passing. "What number was that again?"

"Four twenty-seven. Should be a block up on your side."

"Yeah. You know, one night we should, you know, double date."

"Uh-huh," Bobby agreed with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "I don't think Blake and I frequent the some places you do."

"Oh, I see. You think you've cornered 'class' on this team, huh? Well, let me tell you --"

_"Attention all units -- vicinity Howard and Fourth."_

Banter forgotten, the detectives turned their undivided attention to the broadcast, Alex's eyes on the road, Bobby's on the radio itself.

"Two-eleven in progress -- one-one-four-nine Howard. Repeat - all units -- two-eleven in progress -- one-one-four-nine Howard, cross street Fourth. See the man. Units respond."

Alex had already stepped on the gas, visualizing the quickest route to Howard and Fourth. Bobby snagged the microphone.

"Detectives Eight-One -- will respond to that two-eleven - one-one-four-nine Howard."

Alex snapped on the siren as Bobby retrieved the gumball light from under the seat and slapped it on the roof. Traffic was light, and seconds later, the unmarked SUV turned onto Howard. Bobby had the door open and was almost out before the vehicle had slid to a squealing stop before a run-down corner deli.

A balding, red-faced, middle-aged man, wearing a once-white apron that barely concealed his ample paunch, hustled toward them. Bobby crossed to him, eyes quickly taking in the area and situation. "Did you call the police, Mr. -- ?"

"Brockton, Al Brockton. Yeah, yeah, it was me."

"OK, what happened?" Bobby's darting eyes settled on the obviously upset man as Alex joined them on the sidewalk.

The explanation came fast and furious. "Two kids, they couldn't have been no more than thirteen, fourteen at the most. They come in and tell me to empty the register. I told 'em to get lost, so one of 'em pulls a gun and fires a shot into the wall behind me." He paused for breath, and for the benefit of the crowd that suddenly materialized with the arrival of the cop car.

"And?" Alex prompted impatiently.

"And? And, I give 'em the money -- you think I'm nuts? I'm no hero."

"Good, good," Bobby said quickly. "The two kids, ah… what did they look like?"

"Never seen 'em before. The one with the gun he was short, skinny, about five-one or two, curly dark hair. The other kid was a little taller, blond. They were wearing blue jeans and t-shirts. That's all I can tell you."

"Which way did they go?"

"On foot, that way and around the corner," Brockton said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

The familiar wail of a police siren grew louder.

Alex turned to Bobby. "You want to let patrol handle --?"

"They couldn't have gotten too far on foot yet." He turned back to the grocer. "Mr. Brockton, I want you to stay here. When the other units arrive, tell them what you told us, and tell them where we went."

"Sure, sure."

The detectives headed down the street at a slow trot in the direction indicated. This section of New York had yet to be 'gentrified' so it still consisted mostly of old abandoned warehouses and vacant lots, bordering on one of the poorer sections of town. Though it was undoubtedly a long shot, the possibility that the kids were still in the area was real enough. Though technically not the job of two Major Case detectives to chase down pre-teen robbery suspects, the two officers felt compelled to check it out, they were still two dedicated NYPD officers and knew that seconds could be all the difference between an arrest or not.

They flanked the open doorway of the first warehouse they came to, sidling up quietly. Alex had her Glock service pistol in hand; Bobby slipped his own from the holster on his left, hip seconds before stepping inside. Just across the threshold, they paused. Hearing nothing, they were satisfied it was safe to continue, Bobby gestured for Alex to take the second floor. She nodded, but as she moved away, a restraining hand reached out for her arm. Bobby met the questioning look evenly. "Be careful."

Alex smiled briefly and nodded again. "You too." She felt Bobby's eyes on her back as she climbed the stairs.

Balancing lightly on the balls of her feet, Alex moved swiftly and quietly from room to room. Most were empty, dark and musty, except for the debris that never made it out of the building or that the homeless had brought back into the building. There were scattered, torn newspapers, discarded mattresses and empty liquor bottles. There was also the occasional rat. the rest contained large wooden crates, also empty. It took little time to cover the floor, and, going from vacant room to vacant room, she began to relax. With each passing minute, the likelihood of the kids being in the area grew more and more remote.

She returned noiselessly to the first floor and moved to the rear exit. Pausing first to listen, she was just about to step out when the faint but distinct sound of footfalls caught her attention. She halted again, pressing back against the wall, straining to pinpoint the direction and location of the sounds. The steps grew louder, drawing nearer. They were not the steps of someone in a hurry. Maybe one of the kids was in here, and had heard her advancing on his hiding spot. Then, from outside the building she recognized the sound of running strides from the dirt and grass, moving away at a steady, easy pace.

She continued to breathe as quietly as she could from the relative safety of the shadows, gun at the ready, as the owner of the sneakers stepped into her field of vision and continued on. She caught a glimpse of blond hair and denim, and, after a split second of hesitancy, stepped through the doorway, dropping naturally into the learned and automatic shooting stance. "Police -- freeze!" she barked, and was gratified to see the command instantly obeyed.

"Turn around… slowly."

The blond youth held his stiff pose for a long moment. Then carefully, almost confidently, he turned to face her, an expression of innocence and open vulnerability on his handsome face. He shrugged questioningly, right hand extended palm up.

"Hey," he said quietly, with an unsure but engaging smile, "what's going on, man?"

Struck by the youthful good looks, the innocent, confused smile, Alex hesitated. Sighting down the barrel of her firearm, she aimed with deadly accuracy at the center of the young man's chest, she felt once more the wave of uncertainty she'd been experiencing with growing frequency. Ever since the last time she'd pulled her gun and sighted down its barrel. The time she came face-to-face with Bobby with his gun pointed at her.

Was this one of the young thieves they'd been chasing? Surely, they'd have left the area by now? Didn't the grocer say the dark-haired kid had the gun? These questions and others raced through Alex Eames's mind simultaneously, leaving her dazed and briefly disarmed.

Taken aback, dangerously transfixed, she began to lower her gun.

"Alex, look out! He's got a gun!"

Even as the familiar voice penetrated her concentration, she saw it. The left hand, held down and close to the leg, came up in a blur. The innocent look hardened as the barrel of the .45 leveled off and the trigger squeezed.

Simultaneously, realizing her tragic mistake, Alex brought her Glock pistol back up with equal speed, its own roar lost in the echo of the .45. As she felt and heard the deadly .45 slug sail harmlessly past, she watched her own bullet catch the boy in the stomach and drive him back several feet to land spread-eagled on the soft grass. Blood red quickly spreading and obscuring the white of the young man's tee-shirt.

Trembling, in stunned disbelief Alex lowered her gun once more. "I … I didn't think he had a gun," she said quietly. Seconds later, she turned to look for her partner, and froze.

All sound and movement ceased. She was aware of nothing but her own ragged breaths and the blood pounding in her ears. On ground that spun sickeningly beneath her feet, she took three unsteady steps before slowly dropping to her knees, the gun slipping unnoticed from numbed fingers. She shook her head slowly as a litany of denial poured forth. "No ... no ... no ... no..."

Before her was sprawled a brown topcoat-clad body face down in the dirt, head turned away. The left arm was doubled underneath, the right flung outward – his own unfired lay in the unmoving hand.

Choking down bile that burned her throat, Alex Eames reached out a shaking, reluctant hand to lay on her partner's back, terrified that it would confirm what she already knew to be true. As tears blurred her vision, she gently rolled the unresisting body over and into her arms. The unsupported head fell back.

Brown eyes, already beginning to glaze, stared vacantly skyward. Just above the V of the open shirt he wore, a deep dark spot was spreading across the front of the black tee-shirt. Detective Robert Goren was dead.

"No!!"

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

"No!!" Eyes snapped violently open in the room. Lit only by the muted spill of light from the street lamp outside her house, the shadows looming did nothing to ease the racing heartbeat. Shallow ragged breaths racked her sweat-soaked frame; her heart pounded thunderously in her ears. She slipped trembling hands from a knot of twisted bedclothes, rubbed the moisture from her face, then ran them slowly through her hair.

Brown eyes, adjusting slowly to the dark, traveled the boundaries of walls and ceiling, seeking comfort in their stable familiarity. She swung unsteady legs to the floor and crossed to the window, the cold night air against the wet tank top made her shiver, but helped restore some sense to a shattered reality.

Calmer and a little steadier, she made her way to the kitchen and filled the tea pot to boil water. No longer sleep-slowed, she continued to move with a deliberateness that forced all other thoughts from her mind. With no longer any hope of a peaceful 8 hours sleep, she reached up for a tin of loose-leaf tea. The longer he could keep his mind in 'neutral', the better. She set out a delicate bone china cup and saucer, pulled out the metal infuser, filled its bowl with tealeaves. By rote - no thinking required - the calming ritual of practiced movement.

Continuing movement, returning to the bedroom, she snapped on the lamp and retrieved the long white envelope tossed casually on the nightstand. For the fortieth time she reread the letter that she had unintentionally memorized.

_'Dear Detective Eames,_

_Once again, the NYPD Police Academy wishes to extend to you the offer of a position on our faculty in its firearms and tactical training facility._

_I fully realize that our previous proposals have been congenially refused. However, I believe this time we have been able to substantially 'sweeten the pot', so to speak._

_I have been authorized to offer you a position. . .'_

Letter in hand, she re-entered the kitchen, poured several inches of boiling water into the bottom of her cup, swirling it around to warm the cup. Dumping the water out, she put set the infuser and poured the steaming water over the leaves. Carrying cup and saucer into the living room, she became conscious that the ritual she'd just performed was one that was repeating with increasing frequency, almost nightly. She'd debated the pros and cons for weeks now, the specter of the decision she'd been avoiding weighing heavily on not merely her waking hours now.

It had begun months ago, but pinning it down to a specific date or incident wasn't difficult. It was the day they raided Testarossa's nightclub and she'd burst into the room with her firearm pointed directly at her then-suspended partner. Bobby had been working undercover directly for the Chief of Detectives with the only other person knowing about Bobby's status was Captain Ross. That situation was working itself out, it was taking awhile for Bobby and her to get their working relationship back, but it was happening.

Always reluctant to use her gun, she'd been involved two shootings so far and had drawn her weapon countless times. She'd known officers who'd done their '20' and never pulled their gun, including her dad. Since the incident at Testarossa's, she had begun to notice a new caution creeping into her thoughts, affecting her actions. At first, she had chalked it up to professional circumspection, the natural evolution of her judgmental instincts. Now she just didn't know.

She thought back to the dinner table conversation she had shared with fellow detective, Blake Jamison. It was the first time she had put into words what she had been mulling over in her mind for weeks.

_"Sometimes I'm tempted to hesitate, when I see somebody ... innocent looking."_

It was a frightening admission for a cop to make; in hindsight, maybe she had let the martinis she'd drunk led her to say too much. Blake was her friend. Blake was dating Bobby and had seen him through some difficult days. Alex didn't think it would be long before he hesitantly approached her about her admission - and what it might mean. Hearing it aloud, not exactly sure what she was going to say until the words left her mouth, had helped to clarify how she felt, even if it did not provide the answer she needed.

Up to now, she thought she had it all under control. But it was becoming worse, and lately she found herself less and less confident in her ability to function as a police officer. As her hesitation grew, so did her fear - not only for herself, but for those whose lives she held in her hands ... for one life in particular.

She began to realize that Testarossa's was not the beginning – it was the ending. Events had been building to this point for years, it was the last years' escalation that was forcing her to act: the kidnapper she'd shot, the publicity-shrouded Jonas Slaughter investigation, Bobby's personal mission at Tate's, his suspension, Testarossa's, the offer from the police academy - events tumbled over each other. She needed to get away, needed time to think, but those luxuries were not within her grasp. For once, she actually understood what it was to walk in Bobby Goren's shoes.

Then the nightmares had begun. At first, she was able to dismiss them with the coming of morning light. But they persisted, becoming a distraction during her waking hours, their frightening visions began to slip into her conscious thought, not so easily ignored - and the premonition of their tragic conclusion was becoming all too possible. She desperately needed someone to talk to - but the one person she most wanted to confide in, she didn't dare; not out of fear but out of love.

The basis for any successful partnership lay in the ability for complete and absolute trust and confidence. To possess the knowledge of one another so thorough and deep that both thought and acted almost as one. In the years they had been together, Bobby Goren and Alex Eames had achieved that and much more. Even rarer, they had lost it and regained it once. She didn't think it was possible for the partnership to survive another test, yet alone one so soon of the heels of recovery.

But now, for reasons she could not altogether understand, Alex found herself unwittingly jeopardizing their unique relationship, and a nagging, paralyzing fear was growing deep inside. Her own life, though precious, was, in the final analysis, expendable; to be responsible for her partner's death, in whatever minor or diminished capacity, would be the ultimate tragedy from which she knew she would never recover.

So what was she to do? Did she really want to be a teacher? Did she really want to turn in her badge and walk away from the closest friend she was ever likely to have? The only career she'd ever envisioned for herself.

She was sure of one thing - the love she felt for her partner was immeasurable, a love she had never confused with romantic notions of hearts and flowers or forever. It was so much more than that. They had shared so much and grown so much, separately and together, and opened each other's hearts and minds to new perspectives and new horizons. They had faced joy and tragedy, both personal and professional, and come to know that, no matter what, they could turn to one another for honesty, understanding and unquestioning support.

She smiled as she thought of the man who had come to mean so much to her. Never had she felt so loved, even within her own family; whatever she did, however she felt, Bobby was always there, ready to advise, support or merely listen. He knew something was bothering her, knew that a weight was pressing down on her. He had hesitantly broached several questions, questions she was able to gloss over. For how long, she didn't know. It was getting more and more difficult to evade Bobby's questions; it was getting more and more difficult to look into those familiar brown eyes and lie.

Now, Alex was coming to grips with the toughest decision of her life - a decision that was hers alone. She couldn't put it off any longer.

So she sat, by herself in the dark, a lonely, troubled woman. All the arguments, all the events playing repeatedly on an endless loop in her mind, and the hours passed unnoticed. She was only mildly surprised to see the first faint rays of the sun lightening the horizon.

Setting down the cup of cold tea, she slowly and carefully folded the letter and placed it in the envelope. There was a heaviness in the pit of her stomach, and she felt an overwhelming need to cry. The decision she had just made would lose him the companionship of the best friend she ever had. It was the only decision she could make. In her heart she knew she was doing the right thing for them both, and only she would ever know the price she had to pay.

She made a mental note to remind herself to phone Enrico's for a reservation. She would take Bobby out to dinner tonight. And then, face to face, she would tell her friend and partner her decision… to leave the active duty of active police work to become a teacher at the Academy. Bobby would be hurt and confused, and maybe a little angry, but he would accept it eventually, as he accepted most things. The most frightening aspect of it all; Bobby would want to know why. Bobby always wanted to know the why of every situation and circumstance.

But Alex would never, could never, tell him. How do you explain to someone that you love him so much you had to leave him? That you could no longer trusted yourself to have his back. As far as Bobby was concerned and would have to accept, the deal from the police academy had been too good to pass up.

She glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. Bobby would be picking her up in an hour. She looked around the living room, and realized that the next time she returned there, her life would be changed forever, but not just hers; the decision she had just made will have changed two lives forever.

* * *

When Bobby drove up to the house, Alex was already waiting outside. As she got inside, Bobby turned to greet her and stopped, open mouthed. Seeing the look on her face though, he hesitated, "Eames, are you all right?"

"I'm fine Bobby. Just didn't get much sleep last night." Her bleary-eyed gaze eloquently punctuated by a perfectly timed yawn.

"Then, do I have the perfect movie for you. Blake made me watch this horribly long and slow _English _drama last night. Guaranteed, it'll put you out in five minutes."

Alex hung her head and slowly turned to contemplate her partner - unable to keep from returning the grin she saw on his face – she noted. "Maybe I'll give that a try. For now though, how 'bout we stop at Starbuck's on the way in." She sighed, leaned back and let herself sink into the cushioned seatback, closed her eyes and left the driving to Bobby. For once. All those sleepless hours for nothing - she thought – all the arguments for and against - worthless. She'd never be able to tell him. And if she couldn't bring herself to tell him, how could she ever bring herself to actually leave?

A voice and words from recent memory, reminded, "_If you ever decide you want to finish what we've started here and come back for a few more sessions_, _please do call."_ Finally surrendering, Alex knew she would have to call Dr. Olivett.

_If I only had wings of a little angel  
Don't you know, I'd fly  
To the top of a mountain  
And then I'd cry, cry, cry._

_Walk a mile in my shoes  
just walk a mile in my shoes  
Before you abuse, criticize and accuse  
Then walk a mile in my shoes_


End file.
